Crepuscule
by albydarned
Summary: An Autobot travels down the road to insanity under Megatron's watchful gaze. New chapter "Revival" added 4.3.10.
1. Crepuscule

**Title: Crepuscule**  
Author/Artist: albydarned  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: psychological torture, dark themes  
Word count: 2,800  
Summary: An Autobot travels down the road to insanity under Megatron's watchful gaze.  
A/N: Springkink 2010: For the prompt _"Transformers (G1), Megatron/any Autobot; slavery/establishing dominance - "Where's your Prime now?""_

***

The darkness was suffocating him, pressing in all around the young Autobot prisoner relentlessly. He had curled up into a tiny pile of parts under the only light source in the entire cell; a small, red light which flashed and flickered as though it was about to burn out at any moment.

Bluestreak was certain that his sanity—what little remained—would shatter the moment his world plunged into complete darkness.

The sharpshooter had been a prisoner of the Decepticons for a very long time; exactly how long, he couldn't honestly say, as his internal chronometer had been disabled, along with his communication systems and his anti-virus software, while he was being transported from the battlefield to the Decepticon brig. Alone in his tiny cell, Bluestreak was cold, scared, and vulnerable.

The Decepticons never came for him. Towards the beginning of his imprisonment, Bluestreak had been extremely grateful for that. He knew—he _knew_, deep within his circuits, to the core of his very _spark_—that the Autobots would come and rescue him. _Any day now_, he reminded himself, first mentally and then, when the silence became too heavy to bear, out loud. His voice carried on into the darkness, swallowed by the thick concrete and the miles of ocean that separated him from his friends, his adopted family. _They'll come for me. _

But they never did. _They never did. _Time went on and on, dragging by from klik to klik until Bluestreak's mind began to wander into dangerous places. What if they _weren't_ coming for him? What if they decided that he wasn't worth the effort or the risk? What if they were _thankful_ that he had been taken, that his chatter wasn't uselessly bouncing off of the walls of the _Ark_ any longer?

What if the Decepticons had already killed all of them, just like they killed everyone else he had ever known, and he was alone, forgotten and left to deactivate in the bowels of the Decepticon ship?

Soon, Bluestreak wasn't able to keep _any_ words inside. At first, it was his only way to cope with the silence, with the fact that he was _alone_ and that there was _no one coming for him_. He kept his mind focused for breems, telling stories and jokes that he had heard from the twins, reciting the history lessons that Prowl insisted he complete, and lulling himself into recharge with the lullabies his creator used to sing.

But during one long stretch of talking—about the first time he'd ever been kissed, scared sparkless but unable to turn away as Smokescreen's face plates came closer and closer to his own—there was a sudden, sickening _crack_ followed by a series of gurgles and choking coughs, bright-red warnings flashing across his CPU. Lack of energon and overuse had taken its toll, and Bluestreak, the mech who could always be counted on to say anything and everything and _never stop_, could no longer speak.

_That_ was when he began wishing for the Decepticons to come, because if he couldn't have his family, and if he couldn't have the other Autobots, then he would just have to settle with his enemies. _Anything_ was better than being alone, mute and in the near-dark. But the Decepticons never came either, and soon enough, Bluestreak's entire world narrowed down to the small patch of red, flickering light over his head, and the endless, silent _black_ that lay beyond the pale halo of light.

***

Bluestreak might have been alone, but he was most definitely _not_ forgotten. One single security camera, perched right over the door, provided a constant view of the Autobot prisoner, special enhancements activated in order to provide a clear image despite the cell's dim lighting. And Megatron, the supreme leader of the Decepticons, commanded that the image be present on one of the monitors at all times.

For the most part, the other Decepticons had enjoyed the show at first. In the beginning, they had spent entire shifts mocking the prisoner as he made considerable efforts to remain quiet, his frame shuddering in fear. When he began talking, they began placing bets on how long it would take for him to completely lose his processors.

But after his voice quieted down again, likely from a broken vocalizer, they began to lose interest. Cycle after cycle, the prisoner would simply sit there, unmoving. And yet, the feed remained constantly displayed on the main computers, albeit in a small corner. His soldiers soon became uninterested in the prisoner that they had seemingly left to rust, and Megatron had overheard more than one Decepticon start to question why he had not ordered the Autobot's deactivation yet.

Only one of his subordinates had remained quiet throughout the entire proceedings, watching the monitor with a combined expression of complete ecstasy and processor-freezing terror. Starscream's trine mates had ridiculed their wing leader for his uncharacteristic behavior, teasing him by suggesting that maybe Megatron was preparing a similar treatment for him. Their remarks had prompted a sudden barrage of laser-fire, null-rays, and audio-fritzing _screams_ that had sent Skywarp and Thundercracker (and several other not-so-innocent bystanders) to the medbay for repairs.

Megatron had watched the entire scene with a cruel smirk on his lip components. _If only_ Skywarp and Thundercracker knew the truth of their words … however, not even Starscream's silence and subsequent violent outburst was enough to tear Megatron's optics away from the sight presented to him on the monitors. Megatron had personally watched dozens of 'bots lose their sanity as well as their very sense of being before, and while the show itself was always entertaining, never before had he been so … _intrigued_ before. Where the others only saw weakness and a broken spark, Megatron saw a gathering storm, electricity and lightning building behind otherwise-empty optics.

Oh, yes, Megatron _knew_ the specifics regarding this particular soldier. He was young, one of the youngest in Prime's ranks, and one of the few survivors of his most successful raid, the razing of Praxis. A skilled sharpshooter, true, but such abilities were easy to duplicate and reproduce in almost any mech; truthfully, there was nothing particularly useful about the Autobot rusting in his brig. He wasn't even a high-ranking officer, just a gun and a warm chassis. Megatron had not ordered the prisoner's capture for interrogation purposes. If it was information that Megatron desired, he would have taken the Autobot's second-in-command Prowl.

No, Megatron had other _desires_ for the young gray mech. And he knew, deep within his twisted spark, that the Autobot would be ready soon. That blasted light bulb would only remain lit for so long …

***

Bluestreak had spent cycles preparing himself for when the light would finally go out; he had steeled himself for it, making himself understand and accept that soon it would be completely dark in his cell and that he would stay there in the darkness until the lack of energon drove him into stasis, and finally into complete deactivation. He believed that he was _ready_.

He _wasn't_.

With one final flash and a barely-audible _pop_, the red light finally sputtered out. It looked just like when a mech's spark extinguished out on the battlefield, the few times Bluestreak had been unfortunate enough to watch another Cybertronian die. However, that realization was quickly subsumed in the processor-stopping _panic_ that assaulted him as Bluestreak frantically looked all around him, searching for some source of light, something that he could focus on, anything to remind him that he was still alive, not dead and rusting alone in the pit, trapped in an endless void. There was _nothing_.

Sparks flew from his broken vocalizer as he attempted to scream, but the pain emitted from the splintered piece didn't even faze Bluestreak. His optics were too dim from the lack of energy to provide any useful light, and his secondary systems—which would have typically included night vision—refused to activate, presumably for the same reasons.

Bluestreak had no idea how long he sat there, alone in the darkness, before his processor switched his emotions from panic and fear to sheer, unadulterated _hatred_. How _dare_ the Autobots leave him alone like this? He'd given them _everything_ after his family was killed and after his home was destroyed! His earlier suspicions that he'd been left to deactivate because the others were tired of his talkative nature returned to him, but now those thoughts were accompanied by the most powerful loathing Bluestreak had ever experienced. _Before_, before the darkness and his cell, before the flickering red light and the press of empty, dead concrete around him, Bluestreak thought that he hated the Decepticons for destroying his life. But those feelings paled in comparison to the fire that was suddenly burning deep inside of him.

***

From the control room, Megatron watched rapturously as the storm he had anticipated finally erupted. There was no one else in the room to watch as cool, blue optics, which had once signified the presence of sappy Autobot sentimentalities such as _peace, justice_, and _righteousness_ faded to a dark, _passionate_ red. The Autobot was scowling, and while his weak-willed comrades would have been taken aback at the ferocity of the look, Megatron felt his fuel-pump stutter momentarily at how _beautiful_ the prisoner had become. For several breems, Megatron's gaze never strayed from the screen as the Autobot's optics cycled from blue to red, the only real indicator of the internal struggle the young 'bot was obviously dealing with.

Megatron slid off of his throne and made his way slowly to the monitor. The Autobot's optics were crimson once more, and even though his vocalizer was broken, his lips were still moving in what Megatron assumed were silent threats and curses. One black servo traced over the gunner's features, a digit moving over the prisoner's face, completely obscuring his features.

"Where's your Prime now, little Autobot?" Megatron asked the prisoner. "You know that he's abandoned you, don't you? He's not coming for you … none of them are coming for you." The words weren't true in the slightest; the Autobots had tried several times to break into the base and reclaim their missing soldier, but none of them knew about Megatron's _special_ prison, hidden in one of the darkest and most isolated sections of the _Nemesis_.

The entire scenario reminded the Decepticon leader of the last time he'd played this particular game – the scientist he'd ordered to be captured had held out for several deca-cycles before the claustrophobia ate away at his resolve, irreparably damaging his logic circuits and replacing it with calculating rage. Megatron smirked at the memory; driving Starscream insane had certainly been entertaining.

Almost as if he had sensed his superior thinking about him, the second-in-command suddenly swept into the command center, his characteristic sneer replaced by a look of contemplation. Megatron let his focus drift to the Seeker, who was watching the monitor, completely unmoved by the Autobot's suffering or the … _compromising_ position he'd just found his leader in. Turning away from the monitors to face Starscream, Megatron asked, "Fond memories, traitor? You know, after your outburst last cycle, I should have it arranged so that you occupy the cell right next to him …"

Starscream didn't rise to the bait, but he did allow a small, twisted smile to slide across his facial plates. "I wonder what he will do to the first mech he sees once you've finally let him out?" he wondered out loud, casting a leveled glare at Megatron. The first—and only time—that Megatron had underestimated Starscream's strength had been when he had (perhaps foolishly) entered the imprisoned Seeker's cell, only to be attacked and torn to slag by the mech inside.

But the Autobot gunner was not Starscream by any stretch of the imagination. Whereas Starscream had been in constant movement, even after his own vocalizer had ruptured after the constant begging and pleading, the Autobot had barely moved. While Starscream had, over time, lost his capacity for long-term planning and _discretion_, the gunner had finally overcome the glitch that had made him such a nuisance even among his own faction. Who _knew_ what new abilities and possibilities would manifest themselves as the mech continued to sit there, alone in the dark?

The smile on Megatron's face was far more intimidating and sinister than the Seeker's, and under its force, Starscream began to wilt and back down. A bright flash of fusion energy shot past the Seeker, clipping his wing and forcing him to the ground. Megatron was upon him in a mili-klik, dragging the smaller mech up by his shoulder vents and slamming him against the monitors, right next to the image of the prisoner, whose optics were now twin blue beacons shining in the darkness of the cell.

Having Starscream and the prisoner both within his line of sight triggered a cascade of memories in Megatron's processor: the wonderful echo of Starscream's screams and pleas as he cringed away from the darkness, his bright blue optics shining in fear and confusion until his rage consumed him, how he had finally began clawing at his own wings and plating, gouging deep holes into his armor in order to remind himself that he was still alive, that he could still feel something, even if it was only pain. _That_ was the moment when Megatron was waiting for, where he had gone wrong with Starscream. Megatron had believed that it was more important to encourage such obviously-destructive behaviors, that it would make his future Air Commander more resilient and unmoved by pain; what it had done instead was turn him into a shameless masochist, who sought out punishment and torture at every possibility.

Megatron would not repeat that mistake again, not with his new prisoner. Whereas Starscream now sought pain, needing it to make sense of the information his warped processor was feeding him, Megatron intended to save his prisoner from himself. When the gunner finally focused his rage on himself, Megatron would arrive just in time to save the Autobot from his own hands.

***

_I hate them. I hate them I hate them I hate them all so much_ … Bluestreak's processor was beginning to overheat from the combination of energon deprivation, loss of recharge, and the whirlwind thoughts that were circulating throughout his CPU. His focus could only settle on one thing for the briefest of moments—_I HATE THEM!!! _—before he started another mental tangent, his thoughts piling up one on top of another until he was completely consumed by them.

So preoccupied with his own internal monologue, Bluestreak completely forgot about the darkness all around him; he had been captive for so long that he felt as though his life had completely segmented, that the Bluestreak who had been his creator's pride and joy and the Bluestreak who had been the loyal friend and Autobot was another person entirely, someone who had died the moment he'd fallen into Decepticon servos. That Bluestreak was from _Before_, and the young mech knew, with absolute certainty, that he would never be that mech again. He never _could_ be, not with the memory of cold cement and dripping water and _darkdarkdark_ taking up so much space in his main hard drives.

_That's if I ever get out of this place_, Bluestreak thought, his rage suddenly dissipating and being replaced by self-doubt and fear once more. If he stopped to think about it, Bluestreak would have to admit that he preferred being angry over being frightened, enraged instead of weak. He had been weak _before_, he had been lulled into a false sense of security after his family had been killed … _they_ had made him believe that they would always be there for him … _they lied to me! They lied!_

_I won't stay in here forever_, Bluestreak promised himself, the ghost of a smile, twisted and wrathful, on his lip components. He had no idea how he would escape, especially considering his current operational state, but that did not concern him. In the back of his processor, he reminded himself that he was a Decepticon prisoner, and that some day, _some day, _they would let him out—_rescue him_—and then he could make the others _pay_, make them _suffer_ for leaving him alone in the dark, for _lying_ to him.

All he had to do was wait …

***

"I will become his savior," Megatron murmured, so softly that Starscream's audios had a hard time picking up the words. A shiver wracked the Seeker's frame in response to the dark promise his leader had just made, but he made no move to struggle. Megatron was hardly paying any attention to his second at that moment, his concentration entirely focused on the prisoner, who was shivering so hard his armor was rattling, blood-red optics darting back and forth suspiciously.

"_Bluestreak_," Megatron whispered, using the Autubot's designation as he trailed his free hand over the image of gunner once more. "Soon, you will be mine."


	2. Revival

Title: **Revival**  
Author: albydarned  
Fandom: _Transformers G1_  
Rated: PG  
Warnings: Insanity, brief inference of past non-con (non-explicit)

Summary: If Decepticons are incapable of saving anyone, then how can a Decepticon save himself? Starscream visits a tortured mech.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**Revival**

Hearing screams echo throughout the dark and dank hallways of the Nemesis was hardly an uncommon occurrence. However, Starscream knew that they hadn't taken any Autobot prisoners during the last raid, and since the screams weren't coming from him (although, he could never really be sure about that, sometimes he'd be screaming and screaming for _joors_ without a single clue _why_) then it had to be another Decepticon. And even though he hadn't reached the source of the pained cries yet, Starscream already knew, deep within his twisted and broken spark, _who_ was screaming.

"I'm in need of weapons," Megatron said to him, casually leaning against the wall, directly blocking Starscream's path. Except Starscream _knew_ that Megatron wasn't _really_ there—his leader was passed out in his quarters, completely overcharged. Sometimes his processor liked to play tricks on him, showing him things that weren't really there. Starscream didn't _want_ to talk to Megatron right now, he wanted to go find the screaming mech and _make him stop. _

"I've heard about you," the hallucination said, now appearing further down the hallway, once again in Starscream's direct line-of-sight. "I was told that you made guns that can completely paralyze a mech with a single shot. I want you to make those guns for me."

"I won't," Starscream said, shaking his helm as he raced past the apparition. The screaming was getting louder, so logically that must mean he had to be close. Although, sometimes the things that Starscream knew to be logical—such as trying to kill Megatron and take his place as leader of the Decepticons even though he _hated_ the Decepticons and wanted to leave them and never, ever come back—weren't necessary logical and were, in fact, completely _illogical_.

"You used to be more than this, Starscream," Skyfire told him, a sad look on his faceplates. His frame was still battered and damaged from the ice which had entombed him for vorns upon vorns, and there was a distinctive lack of red on his chest plates. "You used to have a passion for learning. Not for death."

"That was before I died," Starscream replied, barreling through the imaginary Skyfire without even shuttering an optic. Occasionally, when the loneliness seemed to press in all around him, crushing him, he would try to touch the apparitions. Skyfire used to hug him. He used to tell Starscream that everything would be all right. That he loved him.

But then Skyfire went away and Starscream was left all alone and Megatron found him and killed him. Locked him away until nothing made _sense_ anymore and the only thing that he knew for certain was that he would never be free again.

The Seeker found himself standing in front of a door which had been locked from the outside. Inside the room was the screaming mech. The noise was so loud that it was beginning to hurt Starscream's audios, although a wave of rage and jealously quickly overran the discomfort. _They certainly didn't fix my vocalizer afterwards_, he thought bitterly, although he couldn't really remember any more how his voice had sounded _before_. He liked to believe that it was nicer, though, something which was pleasant to hear.

"Are you going to save him?" Skyfire asked, looking hopeful. Starscream had tried to save Skyfire once, after he'd lost his partner to the ice and the wind. He'd spent orns scouring the planet, nearly crashing himself before he gave up and returned to Cybertron, hoping to convince a search party to return. In his dreams, Starscream wondered what it would have been like if he _had_ crashed then. Maybe he would have been rescued too.

"Decepticons don't save anyone," he growled, turning to glare at the hallucination before realizing that there was no one standing behind him, nor had their ever been. He was alone, all alone except for the screaming mech behind the door.

With a hiss, Starscream turned back, coding in the release to the lock and stepping back as the door _whooshed_ open. The lights in the room were turned on so brightly that they were almost blinding; it was absurdly easy to pick out the huddled pile of black, red, and gray mech parts pressed tightly against the further corner from the door. The screaming was far louder inside of the room than it had been outside of it, so with purposeful steps, Starscream walked over to the other mech and hit him hard in the helm, shocking him. "Be quiet!" he shouted, hitting the mech once more. "Stop screaming!"

The mech—his name was _Bluestreak, Bluestreak_ who didn't have a scrap of blue on him not even his optics not anymore—looked up, startled, as if he _hadn't_ been spending the better part of a joor screaming his vocalizer out. "What do you want?" the younger mech growled, baring his teeth defensively. His fingers, which had been sharpened into deadly claws, bunched up into tight fists and his wings flared out behind him. Unfortunately, Starscream was used to dealing with _far_ scarier displays from their _glorious_ leader, so the gunner's posturing had little effect on him.

"I _demand_ that you stop screaming at once!" Starscream said, crossing his arms over his cockpit and giving the other 'con the most condescending look he could muster up. "Your racket is preventing me from initializing _my_ recharge sequence, so you must cease immediately!" Starscream ignored the fact that he was never able to recharge anymore unless he was practically beaten into stasis, his processors unable to shut down fully unless the pain running through his frame became so intense he could no longer remain online. One of the first things Starscream had been forced to learn after he had been _let out_ was to hide his weaknesses. It simply wouldn't do for the Second-in-Command of the Decepticons to admit to hearing voices or seeing things, even if he couldn't remember _why_ he was the SIC or _why_ he was even fighting a war in the first place.

"I'm not screaming," Bluestreak pointed out, meeting Starscream's gaze with a challenging glare of his own. The gray mech had obviously not known he was screaming in the first place. The mech pulled himself up into a standing position, squaring his shoulders to Starscream with violence written across his optics. Even though the sniper stood almost a helm shorter than Starscream, he was a bit bulkier. If Starscream were to be grounded—and inside of the tiny room he currently found himself in, there was no way he could take to the air—he was uncertain whether or not he would be able to defeat the other.

"You'd dare to call me a liar?" Starscream asked, sounding appalled. From somewhere behind him, he could hear the faint echoes of Skywarp's cackling laughter (or was that Thundercracker? _Did_ Thundercracker ever laugh? Did it matter since it wasn't real anyways?). "I outrank you, I could order your deactivation and _no bot_ would care or stop me."

"Megatron would," Bluestreak countered, his voice low and just as deadly as his shooting. "You don't think I hear what they say about you, Starscream? You're two steps away from being permanently dismantled. Megatron doesn't need you anymore. You're absolutely _useless_."

"He's right," Megatron added, his voice floating past Starscream's audio from somewhere behind him. "There's only one reason I bother to keep you around anymore, and once I've talked my newest recruit into opening his paneling for me, I'll have no need for your services."

_Megatron never gave me a chance to refuse him_, Starscream reminded himself; yet another reason to despise the mech he was speaking with. _Poor, stupid little Bluestreak. Pathetic Autobot. He's treated you so much better than you deserve, _I _should be his favorite, not you. Never you. _

"_I'm_ useless? Who is the one who was locked in his quarters, because it certainly wasn't me," Starscream said, a smirk curling his lip components. Despite his obvious favoritism, Megatron didn't entirely trust his new pet just yet; occasionally, the gray mech would suffer glitches, programming recalls that would make him forget why he was here or that he'd become a Decepticon several deca-cycles ago. It made him unpredictable. It made him unsafe.

But Starscream's ability to keep himself out of danger had long since abandoned him, so he felt no fear as he wandered further into the other mech's domain. "I wonder what you would do if they didn't keep you locked in here all of the time. Where you might run off to, what mechs you'd tear apart on your way there …" On the battlefield, Bluestreak had started to abandon him former position as a sharpshooter and had taken up a preference for ripping and shredding the Autobots to pieces, one by one (and, occasionally, a Decepticon who hadn't moved out of his way quickly enough). The first time they had let the former Autobot loose against his old faction, the looks of shock and disgust on their faces had been enormously entertaining.

"Please return him to us," Optimus Prime asked him, standing directly behind Bluestreak. The old Autobot leader's optics looked sad and focused directly on the shorter gunner. "He belongs with us, and you know it."

"Shut up!" Bluestreak suddenly cried out, whirling around and attacking the empty space behind him, kicking and clawing at the walls in a sudden fit of rage. Starscream watched him, completely shocked. _Bluestreak_ had heard the Prime as well? Was it possible that the Autobots had really infiltrated the Nemesis? Starscream's head whipped back and forth, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of Skyfire again. But the giant shuttle was no where to be seen, and it was a corner that Bluestreak was tearing into, not Optimus Prime. Maybe the pseudo-Autobot had been responding to what Starscream had been saying about him, and decided to tear into the wall instead of attacking the Seeker?

Occasionally, Starscream suffered brief moments of clarity. He _suffered_ them because it was during those flashes that he realized how truly lost he'd become, how he was so far removed from the mech he had once been that he may as well have been a different mech altogether. It pained Starscream immensely to know that he had no other options, that he would continue on as he had been for countless vorns until he was finally deactivated (and if Bluestreak's threats were true, then his deactivation was perhaps not so far off).

It that moment when Starscream realized that neither Optimus Prime nor Skyfire was there, that they had _never been there_, he felt an indescribable weariness fill his spark. He was not the powerful or mighty Starscream—such a creature had never existed. He was nothing more than a crazed, broken mechanism sharing space with another Cybertronian who was equally as twisted as him. They were fighting with imaginary enemies and it seemed normal.

Starscream wondered if Megatron would finally offline him permanently if he destroyed his new, treasured pet. It wouldn't take much; Bluestreak was not focused on him, having instead started screaming at the wall, scratching at the paneling until his claws left deep marks. The Seeker's nullrays hummed to life without his conscious consent. He _could_ shoot Bluestreak in the back. One full-powered blast right in between the other mech's fluttering, agitated doorwings would be enough. And once Megatron found out, he'd aim his powerful cannon right at Starscream's spark and for once the Air Commander wouldn't try to stop him and Megatron would fire and it would all _end …_

_"There's another way." _Starscream frowned; he had never heard _that_ particular voice before, and although he didn't recognize it, it sounded strangely familiar to him. As if he _should_ know who the voice belonged to. The Seeker looked just off to the right, to the source of the sound, and gasped when his optics landed on startlingly-familiar red vents, blue servos and a dark helm.

The two stared at each other for a long time, completely ignoring the still-raging Praxian in the corner. After a long silence, the other Starscream—the one who wasn't smirking at all, who actually looked _sad_ and whose optics were blue so blue and Starscream had forgotten that there had ever been a time when he hadn't seen everything through a haze of hate-filled crimson—repeated himself, saying, "There's another way than letting him kill you. You know what to do."

Starscream—the _real_ Starscream—shook his head, having lost himself once more to the insanity which plagued his processors. "Decepticons don't save anyone," he said, but his voice wavered slightly. Bluestreak had quieted down, having exhausted himself (Megatron was keeping him on partial rations, so that if he ever _did_ escape and started causing havoc he would be easily subdued). The gray mech was back on the floor, slumped against the corner, his doorwings drooped down low and his shoulders shaking with poorly-concealed sobs. Starscream was intimately familiar with such extreme mood swings.

The hallucination suddenly knelt down, resting an imaginary servo on Bluestreak's helm, moving to pet his chevron in what would have been a reassuring manner, if it had been real. "Don't you understand?" the scientist that Starscream had once been asked, not looking at the Second-in-Command any longer but instead focusing his sad gaze on the former Autobot. "That you're not only saving him? You can save yourself."

Starscream's optics rebooted themselves in shock, and when his vision cleared once more only Bluestreak remained in the room, his optics dim in stasis-lock. Starscream backed out of the room slowly, not even bothering to re-lock the door as he began to quickly walk away, his peds moving on their own accord and taking him towards the command center as imaginary words echoed throughout his processors. _You can save yourself, _he had said (only it hadn't really been him, had it?); _could he? _

"I'll never let you go, Starscream," Megatron promised him, his black servo heavy on Starscream's shoulder, trying to force him to the ground, where he belonged. "Even if you leave, I will come for you. And when I have you again, I'll return you to the cell with no lights and leave you there until you deactivate. This time I won't save you."

The command center was abandoned when Starscream arrived, and judging from the amount of high-grade Megatron had ingested after their raid, it was unlikely that the Decepticon warlord would be onlining again any time in the next cycle. Starscream locked the bridge so that no one under his rank could enter before turning towards the viewing screen that also served as their communications center.

Moments later, Optimus Prime's face appeared before Starscream, _real_ this time (or, at least, Starscream was fairly certain he was real, and maybe one day he would finally be able to really sort out the different between _real_ and _not-real_ again), his optics appearing a little shocked and completely distrusting. "What do you want, Starscream? Why have you contacted us?"

_You can save yourself_, he had said to himself. For the first time in a very, _very_ long time, Starscream allowed himself to feel a trace of hope. He wondered why he had never thought of doing this before. "I want to make a deal with you, Prime."


End file.
